


Fictober 2018 Prompts

by kentuckybarnes (hannah_jpg)



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Fictober 2018, Ironic Misdirects, Prank Wars, Shenanigans, fun & games, meaningless drabbles, the avengers as a family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 05:59:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16402622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannah_jpg/pseuds/kentuckybarnes
Summary: A collection of completed prompts. I used a "Gore-tober" prompt calendar.





	Fictober 2018 Prompts

**1: Extra Limbs**

Clint whistles to himself, hands in his sweatpants pockets as he strolls the familiar, though dark hallways of the Avengers compound. He's not the only one in the building prone to midnight wanderings, but he's alone this time. That was the point.

It's impossible to keep a secret stash of candy anywhere near the super senses/super sweet tooths of his contemporaries. So he'd resorted to desperate measures - an out-of-the-way linen closet, far from the team's living quarters. He'd never even  _seen_  Steve or Sam this far down the east wing. It was perfect. And he had an XL bag of gummy worms to look forward to.

Moonlight shines through a window at the end of the hall, and Clint rubs his hands together gleefully before yanking open the door handle. But instead of the gust of clean-laundry scent and the sight of neatly-folded sheets and towels, a teetering pile of...of  _something_  careens forward, and rains on top of him like lead pipe after lead pipe.

Clint crumples to the ground.

Slightly dazed, he blinks away the white spots in his vision as he finds himself on the floor. Stumbling around, he reaches beside him and pulls one of the things which had fallen on him. There's a lump forming already on his head, he's sure of it.

He holds it up to the moonlight, and gives a shout before dropping it. The outline of an arm - a heavy arm - metal arm. Scrambling to his feet, Clint tries to catch his breath as he stares wildly at the ground.

He counts no more than seven metal arms. Left arms. Some with wires poking out, some with cracked plating. They must be prototypes that Tony's been working on. And he had hidden them in this particular linen closet….why? No one knew about Clint's candy stash -

Well, they  _hadn't_  known about his secret candy stash.

"Stark," Clint grumbles, and then shouts. "Stark!"

**2: Blood Sport**

Bucky grins to himself, a giddy, slightly unhinged grin, as he drags his flesh fingers through the sticky red. It's especially bright against the white of the background. He squiggles, he sweeps, he  _enjoys_. His hand is stained red now; his nose itches for the slightly-wrong, chemically scent, but he doesn't care.

"Well," a voice says, jolting him back to the present. Natasha is standing in the doorway, a smile on her lips as her arms folded in front of her chest. "Who knew Sam's sensory therapy suggestions would be so effective?"

Bucky doesn't respond. He merely dips his fingers back into the red paint, and keeps going.

**3: Playing With Knives**

"Are you  _sure_  that's safe?" Sam asks, looking unwell where he's sitting at the bar looking into the compound kitchen.

Bucky grins in return, tea towel slung over his shoulder and his hair tied back in a bandana. Keeping his eyes on Sam, he twirls the knife expertly in his fingers, enjoying the way Sam flinches. The knife slams into the cutting board, and the severed fish head slides halfway down the counter in its momentum.

"Yuck," Sam says.

"Then don't have the tuna for dinner," Bucky retorts.

**4: Horns**

Natasha buries her head further into her pillow, clutching the sides to cover her ears. She's torn between screaming and crying - the piercing noise through her skull which had started at seven a.m. that morning isn't stopping. Normally she wouldn't consider unwarranted violence on her teammates, but today might be an exception.

Eventually she huffs herself out of bed, scowling as she stomps out of her bedroom and into the hall. And nearly runs into Steve, who is looking unfairly calm with bright orange earplugs sticking from his head and a mug of steaming coffee in one hand. He smiles at her when he sees her, and takes out an earplug.

"Morning," Steve greets her.

"I hate today," Natasha snaps.

"Oh, yeah - that?" Steve jerks his head down the hall, where the screeching is coming from. Another wrong note makes Nat wince, but Steve merely smiles. "Who knew Clint played the trumpet?"

Natasha shakes her head. "Who knew he was so  _bad_?"

A body turns the corner and nearly runs into them. Clint sniffs the air appreciatively, unaware or uncaring of the confused looks he's receiving. "Fresh pot?" he asks Steve. The horrid trumpet can still be heard.

"Er - yeah."

"Guess I could do with another cup of coffee." And he strides away, leaving a very baffled Steve and a revulsed Natasha, wondering the same thing. Nat speaks first.

"Then  _who -_?"

**5: Hey Batter Batter**

Tony thought that renting out Yankee Stadium for a good, old-fashioned team-building baseball game was a good idea, until he was actually experiencing the old-fashioned team-building baseball game. Even with living quarters so close, even with so many missions - he's never heard this much slagging in his life.

"Hey Barnes, don't break another bat this time!" Clint shouts from the pitcher's mound. "I think Sam's still bleeding."

Bucky grins, and doesn't rise to the bait. He merely taps the home plate with the tip of the baseball bat, pushing the cap up further on his head with his opposite hand. Then, with a dramatic pause, points his metal fingers towards the left field, where Rhodey is barely a silver speck on the green. Superhero suits are necessary when playing sports with supersoldiers, they've learned.

"Can we just keep playing?" Steve's voice comes from the umpire's mask behind Bucky.

"I think I underestimated how long this would take," Tony says in an aside to Natasha, who is jogging in place on second base, waiting for the pitch. Clint punches his glove with a smirk, and in a graceful show of dramatics rivalling Bucky's, leans back to throw a brutally fast pitch.

 _Crack!_  goes the bat, and splinters fly in about four different directions as Steve gives a shout of surprise. The ball launches out of sight, and Rhodey soars in his metal suit towards the stands - but it's too late, and an explosion plastic and glass is visible even across the stadium.

"Oh, come on!" Clint hollars. He rips off his cap, throwing it into the dirt with a strangled shriek of frustration.

"The metal-armed man is mighty!" Thor bellows from third base, shielding his eyes from the sun as he gazes at Rhodey. Rhodey is shrugging helplessly. The ball is gone.

Bucky smirks to himself as he sets off around the diamond at a slow jog. Natasha is already heading into home, giving Steve a mock salute.

Baseball sure does make Bucky feel good. He may not be great at video games or texting, but he can play baseball.

"I should have invested in bats," Tony mutters.

**6: Drowning**

Bucky could drown in Natasha's eyes. And he has every intention to.

The soft music of the restaurant is distant; at their table is only Tasha, her sly little smile, the knowing look in her eyes that makes Bucky melt. Idly her red-lacquered finger traces the lip of her wineglass, and he feel the nudge of her stiletto against his leg under the table.

He lifts a brow. She nods.

The twin scrapes of their chairs against the stone floor draw the attention of the other guests - but it's Natasha kicking out the legs beneath a man walking by that starts the screaming. Bucky is too busy wrapping his arm around the neck of the massive bodyguard, jerking him backwards and out of the way. The bodyguard is fumbling for a gun - Bucky knees him in the groin, and as the man goes slack fumbles for the pistol at his porky side. And trains it on the man Natasha has pinned to the floor.

She's so beautiful when she's taking down a mob boss.

"We got him, Tony," Tasha says into her com. Then she meets Bucky's eyes with a smirk, and he feels himself melting all over again.

**7: Transformation**

Covert missions weren't Bucky's favorite. Not because of the skills involved. Oh, no. That's not an issue at all. It's something...entirely different.

When the jet for Australia finally lands on the rooftop of Avengers Tower, he stalks out of his room, hoping not to see anyone else. The extra-tight jeans were making him walk funny, and the leather choker 'round his neck will probably be torn off as soon as he's aboard the jet. Natasha and Clint are waiting - he can only hope they look as stupid as he does.

Bucky hates disguises. And whose idea was it to stage a drug bust at a music festival, anyway?

Unfortunately, his path takes him through a common area, where Steve and Sam happen to be, well, chilling. They weren't put on this mission. Those lucky dogs.

"Bucky?" Steve asks, incredulous as he does a double-take.

"Don't say a word," Bucky mutters back. He'd shove his hands in his jeans, if there was any room. At least the combat boots were useful. The black nail polish? Not so much. He'd already smeared it.

"I gotta say, Tin-man," Sam says after a pause, his eyes wide. "Black is your color. But not purple."

Bucky gives a low warning growl, and stomps to the elevator. When inside, he runs his fingers through his newly-dyed hair, and his fingers come away stained purple.

Bucky  _hates_  disguises.

**8: So Many Eyes**

Clint was trying really hard to be cool. It wasn't working.

Lowering his head so that it was level with the table, he grimaces at the fresh fish, laid out on mounds of ice to tempt buyers. A sharp voice sounds from the com in his ear.

"Clint, we're here looking for a criminal, not King Triton."

"This is  _so_  gross," Clint complains, wrinkling his nose at the influx of briney, fishy smell.

"Get over it," Natasha snaps. "People eat fresh fish."

"How can they eat something  _looking_  at them?"

"Why don't you ask the seller? And while you're at it, ask her if she's seen a man wearing a green parka with a white scarf."

"I feel like they're judging me."

"BARTON!"

Now he really does jump back; the feedback from the com is worse than Natasha's reprimands. But there's no time to wonder - Steve shouts again.

"He's going your way! Stop him!"

Clint hears people shouting, and the crowd around him begins to shuffle around in panic. So, he does the first thing he can think of as the green parka man, alleged arms dealer, bursts through in a panic - he picks up the tail end of a sturgeon, and swings it at the man's face.

The man crumples. The fish slips out of Clint's hand on the backswing, flying out over the crowd and adding more reasons for the shoppers to squeal. A moment later Steve and Natasha are there, out of breath as they observe the unconscious man on the ground, his face slick with...fish slime, or whatever it is.

Clint congratulates himself on a job well done.

**9: Infected**

Natasha wanders the halls of Avengers Tower. It's quiet. Too quiet.

Nearing the east rec room, she pauses, hearing a few muffled sounds. A voice, a thump, and chuckle. Of course. She opens the door, but the view is not what she expected.

Several couch cushions were standing on end, supported by hard chairs and an upturned coffee table. Sheets and blankets were thrown on top, and the television had been pried from the wall. Instead, a cord ran from the outlet straight into...the fort. There was a fort. In the rec room.

"Um," she says.

Immediately several heads poke out. Bucky, at least, looks pleased to see her - but Clint is scowling.

"Out!" Clint says firmly. "No girls allowed."

"I'm sorry," Natasha says. "What is this - second grade?"

"Hey - dudes are allowed to get together do dude things," Sam interjects. He steadies a wobbling cushion with a hand.

"What are doing? Watching a movie that goes boom?"

"Yes," Steve says.

"Tasha can stay. She won't ruin the movie," Bucky tries to plead - but Clint is merciless.

" _No girls allowed._  Cooties, Barnes.  _Cooties_. Didn't they have those in the 40s?"

"Girls don't have cooties, you prick," Bucky objects.

But Natasha, equal parts offended and relieved not to be included, watches Bucky shrug in her direction, and send a wink. Well, that's enough for her.

"Oh, I don't want to stay anyway. Have fun. And I'll let Tony know you guys get too much free time." Before they can protest, Natasha exits backwards through the door, and closes it again.

**10: Hanakaki**

Groans fill the Quinjet.

At the front, Tony is shaking head to foot in his suit and a sheen of sweat on his face as he murmurs under his breath. Not in English. In Farsi.

Steve is beside him, trying to appear stoic despite the pain in his expression. And the embarrassment. He'd rather be speaking Farsi than have a dozen purple pustules on his face, leaking pus and stinking of orange blossoms.

Natasha's hair has turned silver, her hands covered in liver spots as she trembles beside Bucky, who is out cold. Which is probably fortunate for him, considering the extra leg that's sprouted from his backside.

But Sam. Sam is crouched over a bucket, heaving and cramping and spewing as rose after rose is regurgitated from his gut. It's more painful than he might have expected; the thorns have caused cuts on the inside of his mouth, and he's pretty certain he'll never walk into a flower shop again without getting nauseous.

" _Vedma_ ," Natasha says coldly, in her weak voice. She then goes on in Russian for a few minutes, spitting in rage. Sam lifts his head, pushing out several red rose petals from between his lips.

"What," he says.

"Witch," she tells him, just as angrily. "She was ready for us. Next time, we will be ready for her."

There's a stifled sob from Steve at the front. Sam coughs up another rose, and drops it into the bucket.

"Sure, Nat," he says tiredly. "Sure. For now. Let's just…"

"It'll wear off at sunset," Natasha says.

"Oh, good. Then we can go back." It's the last thing Sam wants to do. Natasha starts grumbling in Russian again, and Sam vomits more flowers.

**11: Scratches**

"Can we stop bringing in strays?" Tony asks in annoyance, watching as Natasha lowers the beat-up cardboard box to the coffee table. Everyone else huddles in around it, cooing and awwing. Tony glowers.

"Come on, man. You pick up strays all the time," Clint says. "Look at Barnes. He's the stray-est of us all."

His joke goes unrewarded. Bucky is reaching into the box, and pulls out a fluffy ball of kitten that immediately purrs and curls itself into his chest. Bucky is smiling. A rare sight. Natasha is separating two kittens from fighting, and Steve has three already on his lap, tickling the chin of a tabby as it purrs.

"They are pretty cute," Tony admits, and walks over to peer inside. The last kitten, pure black, is napping in a pile of dirty towels. He picks it up - his first mistake. The kitten wakes with a yowl, protesting such inhuman treatment, and sinks its tiny claws into the flesh of Tony's hand.

Tony shrieks, and drops the little monster.

Clint's quick reflexes catch the kitten before it hits the coffee table, and he glares at Tony as he huddles the thing into his hands.

"Jerk," he mutters.

"Hey. It started it," Tony retorts, but no one is listening. The kittens are just too distracting.

**12: Let the Blood Stream**

Bucky isn't a fan of scary movies. Maybe because CGI and technology had come far enough in recent years that he's never quite sure what's real, what's makeup, and what's fake. Maybe it's because his past has enough horror experiences that there's no real use in watching more horror on the television.

But Halloween is a special occasion, Tony insists. Which is why Bucky can't sleep afterwards, his head filled with too many vampires, chins dripping blood as their victims' screams echo in his frazzled mind.

Bucky takes up pacing Avengers Tower. Stopping only in the kitchen for a glass of warm milk (his favorite), he wanders up and down, trying to calm his jittery nerves.

_It's only vampires. They're not real. You've never even seen one. Stop being such a fraidy-cat._

A soft noise stops him before a corner. Heart hammering as panic laces his veins, Bucky's trembling fingers clench involuntarily into a fist.

"Hello?" he says hoarsely.

Shuffling footsteps. Then, from around the corner, a pasty-pale face with bright-red blood, streaming from a mouth full of sharp fangs and -

Bucky shouts in surprise, jolting backwards. His next action is instinctive, suring back forward and swinging his closed fist at the abomination. It crumples, shaking its head with a slight moan.

"Clint?" Bucky blurts, chest heaving as he tries to breathe.

"What the hell, man?" Clint says weakly. "Can't take a joke, can you?" He lifts a hand to touch his nose - most definitely broken, as real blood mingles on Clint's chin with what must be fake blood. A costume? For a prank, most likely. Funny. Really funny.

"Not funny," Bucky growls.

"It was funny until you  _punched_ me, you knucklehead."

"That's the funniest part, dipstick. Go to medical."

"What, you're just going to leave me here - "

Bucky stalks away, not even deigning to answer.

**13: Insects**

Sam was minding his own business. Drinking his morning coffee, watching a dull variety of news on the kitchen television. It's early enough that the Tower isn't teeming with life, but late enough that he'd enjoyed a morning run already. The perfect time. Tin-man was still sleeping.

"Morning." Steve walks in, panting and sweaty. Sam grins, and toasts him with his coffee.

"Mornin'."

"Any extra coffee?"

"In the pot."

Since his own was gone already, Sam wanders over for a second cup when Steve's finished. Sugar cubes are strewn over the counter, and Sam's smile fades.

"No need to make such a mess," he says, glancing over his shoulder at Steve.

"What?"

"There's sugar everywhere."

Steve stares blankly back. "I don't take sugar in my coffee."

Huh. Sam didn't remember there being a mess earlier. Maybe he'd been distracted. Reaching out for the pot, he blinks - the sugar cubes have moved. Unless there's a strong wind current he didn't know about. Or he's losing his mind.

Another sugar cube moves. Sam releases the coffee pot.

A line of black specks is making a beeline for...the floor? What the - ?

"What is it?" Steve asks. "You look spooked."

"There are...ants...carrying the sugar cubes," Sam says, dazed.

"Oh. Well, Scott did warn us - "

"Tony should  _not_  have invited him to live here." Sufficiently nauseated, Sam abandons the idea of more coffee, and takes his mug to the sink instead. Perhaps some strong hints would be in order for Lang.

Footsteps enter the kitchen, followed by a cheery, "Good morning, Cap! Sam."

It's Scott. Sam glares over his shoulder, but Scott's grin is just too much. He stomps past him and out of the kitchen, rolling his shoulders to relieve the crawling sensation. If those ants got into his clothes...he'd burn down the counter.

"Is he okay?" Scott asks Steve, after an awkward moment.

"Sure. Well, he doesn't like bugs, much."

Scott nods wisely. "Ah."

**14: Bruises**

Sam's mouth falls open, his spoonful of cereal hovering inches away as he stares, bug-eyed at Nastasha. Dressed in her usual workout clothes as she jerks open the refrigerator in search of a water bottle, she shows no sign of even noticing his astonishment. It's not the first time her skin has been littered with purple marks, and it certainly won't be the last.

"Got a problem, Wilson?" she asks briskly, straightening as she upcaps a bottle to take a long swig.

"Er - did you get in a fight last night or what?" Sam asks, lowering his spoon back to the bowl. If he could turn green, he probably would.

"Of a sort," Natasha replies.

"With who?"

"Barnes."

Sam's mouth twists in disgust. Super soldiers and their absurd sparring - he'd never understand. So he asks, "Who won?"

A smile flits on Natasha's lips. Turning to stride out of the kitchen, she calls back over her shoulder, "Both of us."

Oh.

**15: Nosebleed**

Natasha is striking the punching bag with her absurd graceful strength. This particular day she's only wearing a sports bra and short shorts (maybe on purpose, Bucky doesn't know), and her skin glistens with sweat. Strands of red hair are stuck to the back of her neck, and her cheeks are flushed with exertion as she whips around to deliver a majestic kick with her bare foot. He can see the way her muscles are rippling under her skin; he knows the force she's delivering to the punching bag. Bucky's been on the receiving end of Tasha's attacks before. He doesn't envy the punching bag.

Stopping to catch her breath, Natasha steadies the bag with her long fingers, her touch lingering.

Well, maybe he's a little envious.

"Hey, Tin-man," Sam says, and Bucky nearly falls off the treadmill in surprise. He hadn't noticed Sam's approach. And on his other side - Steve was climbing aboard another treadmill. Geez, he must have been really distracted.

"You okay, Buck?" Steve asks.

"Yeah." Bucky's voice is clipped, broking no further questions.

A look is exchanged between Sam and Steve. They follow his line of sight to see - Natasha, of course, her hands now curled in fists as she circles the punching bag. Sam begins to chuckle.

"Don't get a nosebleed there, Barnes," he says, nuding Bucky with his elbow. Bucky jerks away.

"What are you talking about?" he snaps back.

Steve opens his mouth to respond, a mischievous glint in his eye, but Sam shakes his head hurriedly. "Don't tell him, Steve. Let the man suffer."

Bucky keeps a stiff upper lip, unwilling to be pulled in Sam's shenanigans. He keeps jogging, trying to be a bit more subtle about staring at Tasha. It's not like he can look away altogether.

A nosebleed? What did Sam mean, anyway?

**16: Obsessed**

"Dude. You have a problem."

Clint doesn't look away Bucky, who is standing in the doorway of Clint's room with an expression of what can only be described as disgusted horror. Maybe Bucky has a point. Maybe the dozens of different cereal boxes pinned to the walls with throwing knives are worth being disgusted about. But Clint doesn't care.

He shoves his hand in deeper into the box of limited edition Captain Crunch, and digs out another handful to shove into his mouth, still staring at Bucky.

"Gross," Bucky says, and leaves.

Perfect. More cereal for Clint.

**17: Electrocution**

Bucky doesn't understand the conveniences of a modern kitchen. Well, maybe a normal modern kitchen - but Stark has outfitted Avengers Tower with so much outlandish and experimental tech that trying to make toast is like dissembling a bomb.

The toaster pops, but his English muffin is stuck.

 _"Don't stick a knife in to get anything out_ ," Steve had warned him long ago. So the knife stays on the counter, and thinking to avoid burning his fingers, Bucky reaches in his metal fingers to -

Bad idea. Bad, bad idea.

Steve's going to flip a table, Bucky thinks, lying on his back on the kitchen floor, staring at the ceiling as sparks trail up his metal arm. And Tony shouldn't dabble new tech in the kitchen.

It's beginning to feel a little personal.

**18: Bones Sticking Out**

"Hey Barnes, look at this."

Bucky tears his eyes away from the book his reading (one of many to catch up on), and jolts backwards on the couch from where Tony is waving his hand. Bucky's fingers clench on the cushions as his breath comes out in shallow gasps.

"What the - " Bucky snaps. "What happened?"

"Pretty cool, huh?" Tony wiggles his fingers, making the protruded, white, bloody bones wiggle. His smile is so gleeful that Bucky immediately realizes that this is  _clearly_  not a real injury, and Tony  _clearly_  just wanted to play a joke. He must be in on it with Clint. And the joke had worked.

"That's disgusting," Bucky says stonily, wrinkling his nose.

"I was to Columbia for a campus tour, and stopped a bit too long in the makeup department," Tony explains. He holds up his nasty, bloody hand to his face, examining it with interest. "Do you think we need a makeup artist on the team?"

"No. Unless they'd be here to make you less ugly. In which case, yes." Bucky flops back on the couch, holding his book to his eyes and studiously ignoring Tony.

A moment later, Stark sighs and goes off to find his next victim.

**19: Eye Trauma**

"What is this game called, again?" Bucky asks, picking up the little guitar to stare at the colored buttons.

"Rock band," Clint says.

"How does it work?" Steve squeezes through the strap to hold it on his chest - it's way too small, and Clint grins.

"Push the colored buttons when they appear on the screen. It's really simple. Even you guys will get it pretty fast."

Bucky and Steve exchange a look - Clint, busy twirling a drumstick between his fingers, doesn't notice. He's shuffling through the music library on the tv screen, deciding…and distracted.

The stick pokes his eye. "OW!"

"Hey, it's okay," Steve says. "We're all beginners. Even  _you_ will get it pretty fast."

Clint glares between the fingers he has clamped to his eye. Touche.

**20: Inner Beauty**

Tenderly Clint touches his nose. His fingers come away sticky and red with blood - again. From the rasping way he's breathing he knows it's broken. Also, the throbbing and sharp pains. Those give it away, too.

"That doesn't look so good," Natasha comments. Across the aisle on the other side of the Quinjet, she smirks at Clint. The only blood on her is someone else's. Of course. Clint tries to glare, but even that hurts.

"Be nice, Tasha," Bucky admonishes from beside her. He nudges her in the shoulder with a grin, and Clint knows Barnes doesn't mean it at all. It's confirmed when Bucky winks at Clint. "Don't worry, pal - you're still beautiful on the inside."

**21: Ripped Apart**

Sam had known it was a bad idea. And yet, here he is, an hour later, ready to burst. His head is swimming with nausea, and at great cost to his personal pride, he leans back in his chair and groans.

"I'm out," he groans, placing his hands on his protruding stomach. "Man, you guys are freaks."

"High metabolism," Steve says, tearing into his 87th chicken wing.

"Also, this is way better than anything during the Depression, huh Stevie?" Bucky asks, licking clean his 84th chicken wing. From down the hall comes the sound of the toilet flushing; at least Sam had held out longer than Clint. Although there's no saying whether he'll keep it all down.

Yeah, he had known it was a bad idea. So what?"

**22: Experiment**

Finally, something Bucky and Clint can agree on.

Steve wrinkles his nose as he walks into the kitchen, more than a little surprise to see both of them sitting at the bar, silent and intent on looking at a bottle in front of them.

"What's that?" he asks, coming 'round the counter. "It stinks."

"We've cracked the code," Clint says, not tearing his eyes away. Steve looks - it appears to be a vodka bottle, shoved with pieces of...something, and drowned in liquid.

"Apparently you can flavor vodka with anything," Bucky says. "Like candy. Barton suggested a savory route."

"Is that - is that  _pizza_?" Steve asked, revulsed. A scary smile splits Clint's face.

"Yup."

Steve turns on his heel, and leaves the kitchen.

**23: Gouge it Out**

A heavy, cracking  _thunk_  echoes in the kitchen. Natasha grins ferally to herself, splitting open the shell to expose red, fleshy insides. Twirling the butcher knife in her hand, she sticks it into the wooden cutting board. Tony will get mad. She doesn't care.

Her fingers are stained red as she gets lost in the easy, familiar action of digging through the flesh to get to the most delicious parts. It's a little cold - too much time in the refrigerator, probably. But the work has to be done.

"Hey, Nat - done yet?"

She glances up to see Sam peeking into the kitchen. He gulps at her stare, and Natasha lifts the bowl full of melon balls.

"Done," she says.

**24: Amputation**

Every week, boxes of merchandise arrive at Avengers Tower. Some as samples for the team to keep, some to be signed and sold for charity or auctions. Tony insists on a night every week that everyone assemble to sign the merchandise. No one gets out of it.

Then again, it might be easier to forge the signatures himself.

"This is great," Clint says, holding up an action figure of himself to admire thoroughly.

"They gave you extra muscles," Bucky points out.

"Nonsense - my arms always look like this."

"Flex."

Clint does. Bucky pokes his bicep, and Clint winces.

"Hey Buck," Steve says, passing a package towards him. "They put your metal arm on the wrong side."

Frowning, Bucky takes the package to see - as Steve said, a Winter Soldier doll with...the metal arm on the right. Bucky flips is open, and gently pries open the back to pull out the figure.

"Those are for charity, Barnes. Not you," Tony says dryly, from where he's signing an Iron Man mask with a flourish.

"I know. I'm just fixing it." Bucky pops off the two arms, and switches their places to push them back in.

"Um - arms don't work that way," Natasha says, leaning over to look.

"At least it's on the right side now."

"You can't do that," Clint says.

"Sure I can." Bucky wrenches the figure away with a scowl from Clint, who makes a grab for it. Instead it's Natasha that gets a hold of the Winter Soldier's legs, and yoinks it away. Unfortunately - as things happen, he comes apart at the waist, and Bucky growls.

"We can fix it," Natasha says hastily. "Come on."

Bucky gives her the other half of the figure, against his better judgement, and she fastens his legs back to his torso. And then switches the arms back around again. Or at least tries to - the left arm won't go back into place, and Natasha grimaces.

"This is what we get for playing with children's toys," she says with a sigh.

"We have some tape around here, I think - " Steve says, standing to search through the supplies on the table.

Needless to say, the lucky birthday girl that gets the figure a few months later is very confused to have a Winter Soldier with an arm wrapped in tape.

**25: Dental**

"Hey Sam - have you seen my toothbrush?"

Bucky's head appears around the corner, and Sam nearly jumps out of his skin in surprised. Super soldiers and their sneaking. Frowning through a mouthful of toothpaste foam, he grumbles out,

"Nuh!"

Bucky retreats. And then pauses - there had been something familiar about the toothbrush that Sam had been using…

 _This_  is why he doesn't like sharing hotel rooms.

**26: Dinner is Served**

"Ta-da," Steve says, placing the dish on the table. "Lime cheese salad with seafood garnish."

Silence descends all around. "That's not a salad," Natasha says after a moment. "That's jello."

"It's salad," Steve says again, blankly.

"Maybe you thought it was salad seventy years ago," she says, as Sam reaches out to push the plate around to look at the towering concoction from all sides.

"We had this every Christmas - back me up, Buck."

"That's because we didn't have good stuff like chicken nuggets," Bucky deadpans.

"Can we order pizza?" Clint asks.

Tony is pushing buttons on his phone. "Already done," he says. "Steve, you are hereby relieved of kitchen duties. Permanently."

Steve shrugs, and sits down as he pulls the plates towards himself and grabs a spoon.

**27: Revenge**

A day doesn't go by that Bucky doesn't remember the horrible prank Clint played on him on Halloween with the vampire costume. Even breaking his nose wasn't good enough retribution - Clint deserves worse. Luckily Bucky's good at that sort of thing. He has an instinct for it, some might say. So after happening upon just the specimen in Central Park one day, he stashes it in his pocket and returns to the Tower with a rare, giddy smile.

After everything is set up, Bucky rushes out of the kitchen when he hears Clint's particular tread coming down the hall. He ducks around the opposite corner, holding his breath as Clint yawns and enters the kitchen.

Groans. The whirr of the coffee machine. Silence. Bucky peeks around the corner with a grin. Clint is standing at the counter, ruffled, and eyes closed. After a moment he opens them, and sees the strategically placed apple. Clint blinks.

"Huh," he says. Then reaches out for the apple - but it jostles itself just as Clint's fingers near it. Clint jerks his hand away, eyeing the apple now with some trepidation. Again he reaches for it, now hesitant, and the apple rolls to the side several inches, and then several inches more.

"Argh!" This is apparently too much for Clint - he high tails it from the kitchen, even forgetting his coffee. "I need to go to bed earlier," he grumbles as he disappears down the hallway towards the bedrooms.

Bucky is smirking. Not quite as frightening as the whole vampire thing - but Clint will be questioning his sanity for a while. So all in all, a success. Bucky wanders back into the kitchen and picks up the shaking apple.

Taking it out to a terrace, he flicks open the little hole he'd made, and lets the beetle go free.

**28: Hunted Down**

Adrenaline is making Bucky's heart beat out of control. Steadying himself with a deep breath, he tightens his grip on the rifle he's holding to his chest. The lights flashing everywhere are paining his eyes; he can barely see. And the music. So  _loud_. It makes thinking difficult; and he needs his wits. Immediately.

"Incoming from the west," Steve's panting voice sounds through the com in his ear. "They got me, they - "

A footstep. Bucky whirls around from the safety of the wall he's backed up against, pointing his rifle with deadly accuracy -

But it's too late. With beeps and whirls, the lights on his electric vest go off.

Sam's gleeful cackle echoes in the laser tag arena.

**29: Sewn Together**

It's quiet in Avengers Tower.

Clint whistles to himself, strolling around the hallways with his hands in his pockets. He's bored. It's been a few days since the last mission - enough time to adjust back to normality. Now he's ready for something to do.

Someone's usually in the informal dining room. It's close to the kitchen. So he wanders there.

It's not a sight he expected.

Steve, Bucky, Natasha, and Sam, all sitting at the table, their heads bowed over piles of clothing. Steve is biting his lip. A sweat bead has trickled down Sam's neck. Natasha is as cool as ever, but her brow is pinched in concentration. They don't notice Clint staring.

"I can't do it, man," Sam says, throwing down a pair of torn-up pants in frustration. Followed by a needle and thread.

"Course you can," Steve tells him bracingly, setting down his own shirt to help Sam. "Look, you're going about it the wrong way - in the army we figured out how to do it in half the time, with half the thread and it'll hold twice as well."

"Got two left thumbs, Wilson?" Bucky asks dryly.

"Watch it," Sam retorts.

"What, you gonna stab me with your needle?"

"No stabbing outside the gym, you guys. Tony's getting fierce about the rules. Let's not antagonize them." Natasha doesn't look up from the top she's repairing, her fingers flashing as she drags and pulls thread through a small tear.

Clint backs away slowly. Very slowly.

**30: Till Death Do Us Part**

"Yeah, so then I was like, why'd you strangle the guy with the wires you should've been using to steal the car? Should've just knocked his head through the windshield and then - "

Bucky's spiel is cut off as a dark, hooded figure cuts between him and Natasha. The booms of the bass-heavy music Tony had chosen for the Halloween party are loud - but the awkward silence is louder. Nat lifted a brow at him over the figure, but the figure continues on, and Bucky goes back to his story with a wild gesture from the hook on his hand.

" - and  _then_ hotwired the ride; wouldn't have sabotaged the getaway car and dealt with the traitorous sneak...but  _no_ , Clint just doesn't have the style..."

**31: Aftermath**

A lightbulb, torn from its socket, swings slowly back and forth from the ceiling. Light and dark shadows alternate over the strewn table and debris from one wall to another. Three knives were still, stuck in the wall by expert throws. Spilled drinks stained the carpet, and Bucky's detached metal arm was emitted sparks - but then again, so was the television it had been thrown through.

The rest of Bucky is lying halfway off the couch, groaning as he tenderly touches a forming black eye. Natasha cooes over him, ignoring the papercuts leaking crimson blood from the palm of her hand. Steve is out cold on the piano - Sam had stomped out early on, too angry to continue, and there are grunts from Clint in the next room, pulling out splinters from where he'd flipped the table.

Tony holds a glass of ice and whisky to the bump on his head, and reaches over to pick up one of the many playing cards littered around. It's splattered with blood - probably Clint's - but with a huff of frustration he just tosses it away again.

Monopoly. Never again.


End file.
